


To Seek Shelter

by etoilecourageuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy Parkinson knew how to distract herself, would never stoop to crying in a corner, and yet she could not help but wonder what drove Hermione Granger to do that very thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Seek Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> I really hope that you like this! It's my first time writing Pansy/Hermione in anything longer than a drabble, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out in the end. Lots of of thanks to my wonderful beta and muse for all the constant support and help that prevented me from getting stuck! <3

Pansy Parkinson’s image of a perfect life was simple. As long as she had everything she wanted, as long as nobody contradicted her, and as long as she kept from worrying (unlike so many of her foolish classmates), her life would come as close to perfection as possible. 

It all began in childhood – ever since she could think, Pansy had known that she would be a Slytherin when it was finally time for her to enter school, and she had been right. Of course she had been right; what a foolish thought it was, that it could have even been possible for her to end up anywhere but in the common room hidden deep within the castle’s dungeons, where once her parents and their ancestors had slept. 

Pansy was popular – had always been popular, of course, because how could anyone not love her? She was so unlike Millicent Bulstrode, who had to work hard to remain an accepted and appreciated part of their group. Pansy received only the best grades, and couldn’t deny having been rather proud to call Draco Malfoy (who was fancied by every single girl in Slytherin house) her sweetheart. It would be ridiculous to assume that she loved him – Pansy didn’t _do_ love – but he was her friend after all, her best friend next to Daphne Greengrass, and snogging in empty classrooms, always in danger of getting caught, had always been a rather amusing distraction from everyday life in the castle. 

Indeed, Pansy Parkinson’s life was a perfect life, would remain as such despite any darkness the war had tried to bring her, and she would do everything to ensure that it stayed perfect. She had once overheard her parents in a conversation about potential husbands, but it was obvious that, if Pansy ever were to marry at all, she would choose her husband for herself. Her life was perfect. And it had been until the day she’d found Hermione Granger in the dungeons. 

The faint sound of choked sobs had come from a corner not far from the office that had once belonged to Professor Snape; perhaps another first year, Pansy thought, or Millicent, who was once more attempting to hide from the world. She didn’t care much about others (except Draco and Daphne, whom she had always felt particularly connected to), only shook her head in disdain over the pathetic whimper. She wanted to continue her way to her common room, wanted to forget about the incident as soon as she’d spoken the password to escape the corridor and get inside.

Instead, however, Pansy found herself following the sobs – it seemed as though she had gone into a trance, as though someone else had assumed control over her legs and was leading her to a place she did not want to go to. Pansy didn’t like not being in control; she didn’t like it at all. But she had no other choice than to follow until she found the source of this most unpleasant noise. 

“Whoever you are, will you just shut u-“

Pansy had opened her mouth to speak, had begun her usual scornful remark, but broke right off and groaned as she saw her – cowering in a corner on the floor, her brown, terribly bushy hair covering parts of her tear-stained face, books scattered all around her. 

“Merlin. What’s wrong with you, Granger, didn’t Slughorn let you take an extra exam?”

Pansy would have expected a response – an angry glare, at least – but Granger didn’t even seem to notice her. The crying girl didn’t seem to notice anything around her. Pansy realised then that it was Saturday – and no matter how morbidly eager they were to learn, even people like Granger would never voluntarily set foot into the dungeons to come near the potions classroom on weekends. 

“What are you even doing down here? Lost your way when attempting to return to your precious tower?”

Silence.

“Fine.”

In all honesty, Pansy did not even know why she bothered talking to her – there were no words for how much she despised all those terribly obnoxious Gryffindors, and this one in particular, an insufferable bookworm who, despite her Muggle parents, could have turned into a rather decent witch had she not chosen a completely wrong path, completely without ideals and priorities. Pansy’s time was far too precious to attempt to start a conversation (not that she’d wanted to anyway), so she turned around quickly to leave, and to forget what she had seen. 

Yet she could not help but wonder what had despaired Hermione Granger so much that she fled to the dungeons to seek shelter where she belonged the least.

***

She saw her again the following day, and the day after, saw her again and again until more than a week had passed since their last encounter. Granger seemed to know better than to cry now, would merely sit there and stare straight ahead, as though she had turned into stone. It was an eerie sight, but Pansy had quickly gotten used to it, and she no longer wondered. There were other things she had to worry about, after all. 

It was long after midnight on an evening when Pansy passed by the ridiculous picture of misery once more, not bothering even to look at her, as she had already grown used to the sight. Suddenly, fingers grasped around her right wrist like Devil’s Snare, pulling Pansy to the ground with unexpected strength. 

“Bloody hell!” Pansy cried out, angrily attempting to pull herself from Hermione’s grip. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Attacking students now, is it? Isn’t creeping about the dungeons and scaring off the first years enough for you anymore?” 

“Shut up, Pansy,” Granger said, her voice strangely hoarse, not showing any expression. Only a brief look into her eyes was enough for Pansy to know that she was once more close to tears. 

“You’ve truly lost your mind at last,” Pansy muttered, wanting to rise and free herself, but there it was again, the trance-like state that made her lose control over her body once more, causing her to sigh. “Can’t you bother anyone from your house with your problems? Potter, perhaps, or Weasley? _Any_ Weasley? There are plenty of them after all…” 

She was surprised by the sound of her own voice – all anger seemed to have suddenly disappeared, giving way to something soft, much softer than she’d intended. What was happening to her? What made her talk to Granger when really she couldn’t care less about any of her troubles? 

“You know they’re not here,” replied Hermione and her façade of indifference seemed to crumble. “You know that they haven’t come back.”

Of course they hadn’t. Why should they, after everything that had happened? Draco hadn’t come back to finish his final year either, and Pansy could not deny that she missed him, more than she believed she would. But she knew how to distract herself – this was by far not a reason to spend her spare time crying in a corner (of course she would never allow herself to shed a single tear in public… She had a reputation to keep, after all) and wallowing in self-pity. 

“So this is the reason why you’re sobbing your eyes out down here day by day?” Pansy asked incredulously, attempting to hide the surprise at least from her face. “Because you cannot be without your precious little friends? I beg your pardon, Granger, but this is ridiculous even for you. I always believed you had at least a spark of dignity.”

“The Gryffindor tower… I… I can’t…” Granger muttered and there they were, the tears she had so miserably failed to suppress. She looked as though she would rather bite off her tongue than speak, but the words came bursting out of her now and for a moment she seemed to have fully lost control over herself. “They can’t see me, not like this, I… I needed to hide… The war, I…”

Again, Pansy sighed. Whatever it was that bothered her, Hermione Granger was desperate enough to hide in a place she would usually give a wide berth, desperate enough to be about to entrust herself to someone she knew despised her, a feeling that was more than mutual. 

“I needed to hide…” she repeated, her voice breaking now, and soon her body was shaken by the same heart-wrenching sobs that days ago had called Pansy’s attention. 

Once more Pansy looked at her, longer this time; she looked into those tear-stained eyes and for a moment she seemed to forget that the girl sitting next to her, still clutching her wrist, was Hermione Granger, so fragile and not at all the obnoxious know-it-all she had been before the war. 

The war. It had taken its toll on them all – even on her, but it was not something Pansy liked to admit. She, too, had changed; she, too, had seen people fall, she, too, had mourned the loss of beloved in the Great Hall the day it all had ended. They had been promised a better life, and they believed, but all they’d received was grief and destruction. 

Pansy had spent the summer locked inside her bedroom, either alone or in the presence of Draco, to whom she barely spoke, and when he’d informed her of his intentions not to return to school, asking her not to finish her final year either, she nearly consented. 

But she had returned, had returned in the secret hope that the moment she found herself back within the castle’s familiar walls, she would be able to return to her old life as though nothing had happened, as though it were still perfect, perfect like it had always been. She had returned in the hope that Hogwarts would help her to forget… 

And she had succeeded. Pansy had succeeded until now, until the memories returned to her so abruptly that in this moment they seemed to crush her. 

“You’re not the only one,” she said quietly, and for the first time she realised that she pitied Granger, that she felt pity for the Gryffindor girl who in the dungeons sought a place to hide from the world, the Gryffindor girl who refused to remember, not much unlike herself. “I cannot be seen either.” 

It was not until an hour later that Hermione’s sobs finally dried out, that she finally brushed the tears away from her face and looked at her, disbelief in her eyes. 

“What do you know?” she breathed sharply, and for a moment it felt as though she were fully herself again. As though she had realised where she was at last, realised whom she had pulled to the ground, who had been with her in the moment she’d fallen apart. “What do you know of being forced to hide, of having to remain strong under any circumstances, what do you know of fear, of never being allowed to fail?”

Pansy couldn’t respond at first. Could only hold her breath and hold her gaze, not allowing herself even to blink. She had never been permitted to fail. Had never been permitted to show any kind of weakness, not when she had desired to the most. But she was a Pureblood, a Parkinson, who must stand proud and firm as a rock, who must always radiate perfection, even if it were only façade. Even if they were at war. 

But how could Granger understand? Why would a girl like Granger understand what it meant to grow up in an archaic world that would allow no mistakes, that valued duty more than love, honour more than emotion? Why would she understand any of what she so fiercely condemned? 

“I know enough of war,” Pansy said eventually, quietly, slowly, yet unable to keep her voice from trembling. “I have been fighting in one my entire life.”

Surprisingly, Hermione’s face softened at her words. Surprisingly, all her anger seemed to have vanished when she let go of her hand at last, only to wrap her arms around her neck and pull her into an embrace so close that it nearly took her breath away. For a moment, no longer than a split second, Pansy could not help but wonder what it would be like to taste her, what it would be like to feel her lips against hers… And when on the next day she found Hermione in the dungeon once more, she realised that there would be plenty of time to find out.


End file.
